


Stuck and stuffed

by RussianWitch



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Anal, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Guns, Het, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, but not really, various kinks mentioned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-06
Updated: 2014-04-06
Packaged: 2018-01-18 09:33:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,728
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1423483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RussianWitch/pseuds/RussianWitch
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stuck in a very small apartment during a heatwave no one is thinking clearly.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Stuck and stuffed

**Author's Note:**

> Not beta'd 
> 
> I suppose a transgender character reference should be given only it's in a dream and well it gets a bit weird there. I'm warning just in case.

The first time Arthur meets Eames he's fresh out of the army, looks about twelve and is full of preconceived notions about how the world is supposed to work.  
To his annoyance Eames instantly starts to work hard to blow every one of these notions out of the water; acting utterly unprofessionally while getting shit done in a disgustingly competent fashion that Arthur is yet to master at that point in time.

Long story short: he made an ass of himself the first time they work together.  
With years between the events in question and the now, Arthur can freely admit that he had been an overreaching little twerp who didn't know shit and it showed.  
Eames, being true to his nature, had taken somewhat shameless advantage of Arthur's tendency to dig himself into a hole but had thankfully, mercifully done so for educational purposes only.  
Eames after all isn't a complete bastard and never has been one.

Basically, a decade or so ago Arthur had misunderstood a few things and because of that had missed his change to screw a hot Brit through the bed, or get screwed either would have been good, especially then.

When he's drunk or melancholy he still regrets the missed opportunity, but like he keeps reminding himself all these years later; at least it had been educational.  
In Arthur’s defense; he'd been a small town kid from the depths of the American Bible belt who had gone into the army as soon as he'd left high school.  
All of his education on the more risqué subjects had come from hormonal idiots and small town folks more concerned with sin than proper sexual education.  
He'd realized that he was gay soon enough; he wasn't stupid after all, but most of the information he'd gotten had in hind sight turned out to contain a lot of crap.  
It had gotten him laid; after all drunken guys in bars aren't too picky when they can be relatively sure they won't see the other party ever again and Arthur isn't the ugliest either so that helped, but for years the preconceived notions got in the way without him even knowing it.   
Until Eames had opened his eyes, and walked away.

Even now ten years later Arthur still likes to look at Eames; despite the progressive sloppiness of Eames' appearance, the greasiness and plumpness that have increased over the years, the clothes that seem to come either from some grandpa's closet or possibly from some third world Salvation Army store, none of these have managed to weaken Arthur's interest.  
He's tried to get over it; had rationalized and made lists why fixating on one Reginald Osmond Eames for close to a decade is a bad idea, especially after blowing all chance to do something about it.  
Yet, there he still is...not pining exactly; Arthur doesn't pine because he just doesn't but he always gets ruffled when Eames is near.  
Because he still wants; and with every year the want changes and mutates more and more. 

Where it once had been just the want to prove Eames wrong, prove his own skills, prove that he has what it takes to bed or beat the Brit, now more and more he just wants to get to know Eames, wants the chance to see if they could maybe manage to fit their lives together, disgustingly enough wants the right to watch Eames when he sleeps and cook him dinner.

When Arthur is at loose ends, the last couple of urges send him out in search of strong drink until he manages to drown them out.

When they had first met, Arthur hadn't understood: Eames had been older, big and muscular and at the right angle so damn pretty that it made Arthur uncomfortable. Smart and worldly to Arthur's eyes; gregarious and always present to the point of being obnoxious no matter the situation.  
Arthur couldn't comprehend that someone like that would feel comfortable impersonating a woman or would deliberately put up a rather limp wrist facade for his own personal amusement without dispelling the impression he gave people after.  
Arthur couldn't believe that Eames actually liked occasionally taking it up the ass from skinny twinks, couldn't believe that Eames really didn’t care what the world thinks of him and in fact had given the world the finger quite some time before their meeting. As an end result had had to watch the fire of interest bank in Eames eyes.  
And as a bonus, he’d had to see Eames bed one of those skinny twinks just a couple of days later.  
Their rooms had been next to each other and the walls thin; Arthur had spent the night listening to Eames demanding to be fucked harder in that damn accent of his.  
After that, their relationship hadn’t exactly improved.

He had been left achingly hard and confused that night after Eames had ruffled his hair, covered his powerful body already carrying the start of the mess of questionable tattoos with his shirt, smiled ironically and ambled out of Arthur's room without any explanation after one or two comments Arthur had made in the heat of the moment.  
It had taken the rest of the job for Arthur to pinpoint in what way he had disappointed the Englishman.

He'd spend several months after that job licking his wounds and snapping at everyone every chance he got. The only upside to all of it had been that he had cemented his reputation for the rest of his career.  
His relationship with Eames had crystallized into its current form and Arthur has been wishing to shatter the fucking crystal ever since.

He's reinvented himself over the years: had gotten cultured, worldly, educated himself on a variety of subjects from the way one actually wears a suit to current events and random obscure painters.  
A benefit of his self-assigned reeducation had of course been that he had gotten good at information: he'd made contacts, had horded data about useful subjects and taught himself to research people.  
The first person to fall prey to his scrutiny had of course been Eames. 

Arthur is still not comfortable with all the things he’d found, he's internalized and archived them but rarely thinks about them these days. He's come to prefer to see Eames as a whole and not the sum of his damaged, somewhat twisted parts. Eames had fixed himself: like a pot by the principles of Kintsugi with which a simple clay object got shattered then repaired with gold lacquer making the object into art. Eames with all his faults and flaws is art to Arthur; he always no matter what happens in their lives.

Eames isn't an ideal, Arthur doesn't have him on any sort of a pedestal; he holds no illusions about Eames being some perfect specimen of mankind, some great example to follow in the trade they both have landed in, Arthur's intellectual superior or anything else of the sort...  
Arthur has just gotten fixated.  
Occasionally he still thinks that developing a drug habit would have been easier.  
Instead he has an Eames habit that just won't quit.

He's learned to live with his fixation as best he can.  
It's not like Arthur has been pining for close to a decade; he's had relationships and one night stands, has never deprived himself of anything physical that wouldn't damage him permanently. He'd learned what he likes what his body likes and that there are always people to be found who will indulge him in every one of his desires.  
That his preferred type is big and burly is neither here nor there.  
Arthur is fine; he's managing, always has and always will.

Except that then he gets stuck with Eames lying low in some one cow town in Eastern Europe that's still big enough for them not to stick out too much if they mostly stay indoors.  
They have to share a one room apartment that consists out of a room, a kitchen, a bathroom and a hall where Eames has to be very careful turning because otherwise he'll catch his shoulders on the walls for the foreseeable future because a job has not panned out and none of the police forces in Eastern Europe have a sense of humor, or fare play.  
On top of all of that it's hot: it's so fucking hot in the damn apartment right under the tin room of the ten story flat that they don't even have to do anything to work up a sweat: just sitting still will do.

And this situation, this limbo Arthur is forced into the realization that he's made a mistake: again.   
It seems like he's destined to keep being mistaken about Eames no matter what he does.   
Because Eames out of his terrible clothes is still build like a brick shithouse; no longer as defined as Arthur remembers him to be; broader and settled with age more curved than cut in places and still mouthwatering as far as Arthur is concerned. He always seems to forget that Eames is a conman by trade, maybe its willful blindness on his part, he isn't quite sure but it annoys him to no reason.

They take showers pretty much every hour and barely bother to dress so Arthur is constantly faced with a naked, damp Eames in his line of sight: with the hard muscles, the tangle of tattoos and soft feathery hair that constantly falls into Eames' eyes without the gunk he apparently smears in it to keep it under control and looking greasy.   
Eames the fucking ugly duckling...  
Arthur can barely keep himself from attempting to strangle the bastard, or humping his leg.   
Either would end unfortunately as far as he's concerned. 

And of course, since they aren't bothering with dressing properly, all Eames bothers with is a pair of graying, disgustingly saggy Y-fronts that draw attention to the thick cock they barely manage to contain. They make Arthur want to go on his knees; to pin Eames against the wall and chew his way through the flimsy fabric to lick the sweat from between the cheeks of Eames' ass then proceed to fuck Eames' asshole with his tongue. Even thinking about it, Arthur suspects that Eames won't hold still for such an indignity without some resistance, Eames doesn't accept passively when he can fight. Even when taking it up the ass, Arthur imagines that Eames doesn’t allow his control to slip even an inch.

Arthur would offer to have Eames sit on his face, but that would make watching him come apart difficult and if he gets the chance Arthur wants to see. He could of course try sucking Eames' cock, sneaking up while Eames is napping and just swallow the thick length down so Eames wakes up already owned and swollen down Arthur's throat hopefully unable to mount a counterstrike before Arthur gets his way.   
Arthur spends a lot of time in the closet like bathroom under a cold shower jerking his cock to all the images his brain provides.   
He keeps control for a whole week before the feeling that he's going to go insane if nothing changes overcomes him, and to keep the peace digs out the PASIV and hooks himself up.

Arthur's dreamscape has long since adapted to Arthur's nature.   
No sloppiness here; instead labyrinths within labyrinths of shelves towering over everything like skyscrapers containing all of Arthur's waking knowledge in all kinds of configurations.  
And in between on the streets of the maze...there are people and all of them are Eames.   
More to the point: all the faces of Eames Arthur ever had the pleasure and displeasure to have met throughout their decade of acquaintance, wandering around going about their business.  
Arthur has tried to get rid of them, has tried everything he knows should work and yet there they are all separate people in their own right because Eames never does anything by half.

Arthur is stuck with them when he's using the PASIV without a clear goal in mind; they are the reason he doesn't work as an architect while having the capacity for it, why he rarely allows others to practice with his as the subject either: any way you approach it Arthur's subconscious manages to screw playing well with others up in one way or another.  
But it does give him the opportunity to release some tension.   
There are a lot of choices; Arthur knows from previous experience that no matter what projection he approaches they will be willing.  
It's mental masturbation after all; nothing more and nothing less.  
He can pick any one of them, and has frequently done so.

The Woman is a favorite of Eames, if Arthur remembers it correctly; tall and just a tad curvier than is considered the epitome of beauty with Eames' thick lips painted whore red and the tight dress that’s slit to her thigh drawing attention to her hips and tits. She is exactly the distraction he needs after a weeklong exposure to Eames' naked flesh. As far as he can remember The Woman doesn't have a name despite being a favorite; she just is.

She leans against the shelves in a secluded square and at the sight of Arthur bends one leg, braces it against one of the shelves behind her, turning her knee in invitation.   
Arthur can't resist; he stalks up pinning her against the shelves to a throaty laugh. In retaliation he nips across her pale throat and buries his face in her cleavage mouthing at her breasts as his cock rises still trapped in his trousers.  
Her hand wraps around his neck; her blood red nails scratch at the short hairs at the base of his skull teasingly, then she gives him a slight push down. Arthur goes willingly; she catches his tie in her hand and keeps hold of it as Arthur sinks to his knees his hands already pushing her skirt out of his way.  
He is on his knees, his mouth already open when the unexpected happens.  
Arthur expects to be able to bury his face in soft curls, to nuzzle between her legs and lick at a dripping, pink cunt.  
Instead his mouth is filled with thick hard flesh that robs him of breathe. 

Suddenly gagging on cock sends Arthur into a mild panic; he attempts to pull away but the hand on his tie has a far tighter grip than a woman should have. Her plump, pale thigh lands on his shoulder like a shackle to keep him where he is. Arthur looks up and all he can see is Eames' mouth twisted in a mocking smile and if he closes his eyes all he can fell is a thick cock smothering him.  
He's had her before of course, but dreams are unsure places that change depending on the mood of the dreamer unexpected changes...aren't that unexpected.  
The forceful fucking of his mouth is not what Arthur wants just now, but it is still something he can enjoy in the privacy of his own mind.

Submitting to the abuse of his mouth, Arthur reaches out and wraps his hands around the thighs keeping his head captive and dives in; takes the flesh down this throat as far as he can eager to be smothered by her after assimilating the idea. Arthur gets absorbed by the taste and smell that's not entirely male or female, by the weight of hot flesh on his tongue and the rough thrusts that steal his breath, that the words almost escape him whispered as they are.

"Bloody hell, pet." It takes all of Arthur's self control not to bite down.  
Instead, he slips his hand off the lovely thigh he's been clutching down his body as if he's going for his cock only to change direction at the last moment and pull the Glock that's with him even in his dreams from the waistband of his pants. Over the years he's accepted the necessity of shooting out of dreams, he still hates it but it's often better than the alternative. He puts the barrel to his temple before she, Eames, realizes what's going on and pulls the trigger.  
All goes black.

His throat feels rough when he opens his eyes, his mouth is dry and his cock is still rock hard.  
Eames moans on the floor beside his chair and Arthur has to resist the urge to kick him before Eames wakes up fully. He fishes his gun out from behind the chair pillows, switches off the PASIV then kneels on Eames' chest to wait for the bigger man to become coherent.

He can't figure out why Eames would bother doing something...Arthur can't even find the words for it, especially considering he's been more or less offering for years now and Eames has been the one to constantly turn him down. And now this, this madness that could only come from Eames' twisted little mind.  
He gets comfortable on the broad and disgustingly hard chest having to make an effort to pin Eames' arms to his sides, then puts the barrel of the gun under Eames' chin and cocks it.  
Eames moans and Arthur bites his lip because Eames' chest vibrates under him and all he really wants to do is hump it until he comes and mixes his spunk with the sweat already making Eames’ the skin gleam. 

"Ye're a bloody bastard Arthur!" are the first words out of Eames’ mouth slurred at him as Eames tries to shake off the post dream haze. Arthur has to respect the size of Eames' balls, but he doesn't have to take the smart mouth so he pistol whips Eames. As usual Eames still looks hot even while bleeding, maybe even more so if Arthur is completely honest with himself.  
"Why were you in my dream Mr. Eames?" He hopes that he sounds as cold and calculating as normal, but he probably doesn’t. Between still being horny, angry and fed up with the fucking heat Arthur suspects that he sounds homicidal.   
"You seemed to be having such a grand old time darlin' that I got curious, and since there is bugger all to do here..." Eames doesn't even sound repentant, but then he never does. "I do have a bone to pick with ya about your ways of showing displeasure. Killing yourself while severing someone's manhood is a bit melodramatic don't ya think? And traumatic seeing as ‘m rather attached to them bits!" He wiggles under Arthur as if trying to get to the appendage in question but Arthur clamps down and keeps his seat.  
Instead he reaches back and gropes at the cock he's been denied for a decade through the overstretched cotton. Eames' tortured groans are music to his ears when he digs his nails into the hot flesh under thin fabric.  
“It seems it's all still there so you Mr. Eames have no reason to complain.” In answer Eames licks the blood off his split lip and Arthur can almost taste whore red lipstick again.  
“Maybe you should take a closer look darlin'" Even with a bloody mouth the grin on Eames' face is charming and boyish in a way Arthur has never managed despite permanently looking too damn young.  
Arthur slaps him again this time with his hand, Eames the contrary bastard moans long and needy.

”What are you playing at?" Arthur has long since learned not to trust what he sees or hears; one can never be sure when working in dreams and he can't check his totem with both his hands occupied with Eames. Not that Eames looks like he wants to get loose, and that in itself makes Arthur suspicious.   
"Nothing darlin’...as usual," Eames drawls his face darkening. Arthur watches the man pull back mentally and a familiar mask dropping down. He doesn’t want to see the mask all of a sudden, he’s been looking at it for too damn long already.

Arthur pushes the barrel harder into the soft flesh under Eames' chin, bends down so they are almost nose to nose and bares his teeth. "Somehow I don't believe that Mr. Eames. I don't have time for your games, not now!" He wants to sink his teeth into Eames' throat; taste his flesh, lick the sweat off the skin and feel Eames yield to him.  
"You never do pet," Eames complains.  
Arthur pulled away from the contemplation of Eames' bobbing Adam's apple to look into Eames' eyes shocked at the tone.  
"I don't like being taunted!" He growls aware that they are stuck in a tableau he has no idea how to break. He could kill Eames and that would end the stalemate, but it wouldn't actually be a solution.  
"Never taunted, just tried to loosen ye up some." Eames muses pushing back against the barrel digging into his flesh until he gags before relaxing and dropping his head back on the floor. Arthur can't help imagining pushing the barrel into Eames' lush mouth to fuck it with the gun, preferably a loaded one with one bullet chambered so that Eames will never be sure…   
"If you say so Mr. Eames." 

Eames' thick pink tongue peeks out from between thick lips to lick away some of the blood and Arthur has to strangle a moan. Eames' eyes flash with some emotion Arthur doesn't recognize while at the same time Eames goes unexpectedly and completely limp under him. Eames arches his throat baring it in a gesture that’s as much submission as challenge, and then sighs dramatically.  
"Why are we always fighting darlin'?" Eames sounds so sad that Arthur almost relents, would relent if he didn’t know any better.  
"Because..." because Eames turned him down all those years ago and Arthur is still sore about it, because Eames is one of the few people Arthur might admit he trusts, because he’s been...there are a lot of things Arthur would rather do than admit that he's been fixated on Eames all these years.   
"’cause let me tell you pet, that was never been my intention." Eames sounds sincere, that Arthur decides that he really must be going out of his mind with boredom to try this.  
"I am very aware of your usual intention."  
"Arthur, pet please tell me what I can do..." Before Eames is even done speaking, Arthur's head is already full of images of making Eames crawl for him; beg for his cock or mouth or hands.  
He wants to see Eames preparing himself for Arthur's pleasure; twisting and struggling to reach back and stretch his anus with his thick fingers…, "you know what you want darlin', I can see you do! Tell me what you want Arthur..." The implication is Eames will do anything Arthur blurts out right then and there takes Arthur's breath away. He forces himself not to react either by change of expression or by tightening of his muscles, he doesn't want to play Eames' game.

Keeping his gun aimed at Eames' head, Arthur rises and slowly starts backing away towards the closet that is passing for a bathroom in the apartment while keeping Eames in sight. It's the only part of the apartment that has something like a lock on it and Arthur eagerly takes advantage of it.   
Eames lets him, staying stretched out on the floor with his arms at his sides and his cock tenting the damned Y-fronts while Arthur retreats. Arthur pulls the door shut behind him, knocks his leg against the toilet bowl he can only use by sitting down sideways, turns and flicks the flimsy latch before slumping on the grate that lies over the top of the half bath that's miraculously been shoved into the bathroom instead of something logical like a shower and finally puts the safety back on his gun. 

He won't be able to stay in the bathroom forever from the sheer practical standpoint, but if he does have to leave any time soon; Arthur is pretty sure he will end up shooting Eames. Arthur puts the gun on the sink and curls himself as best he can on the grate cursing Eastern Europe to hell and back. He's often had crappy accommodations; one of the down sides of being semi-criminal is that you can't be picky when you're working. Arthur leans back against the tiled wall and closes his eyes to shut out his current situation for a moment.   
"Arthur, pet..." Eames’ voice comes from the other side of the door.  
"Leave me alone Mr. Eames. I can’t deal with you just now." Arthur considers sticking his fingers in his ears, but decides that he isn’t that childish.  
"So when can I expect the pleasure of your company again?" Eames taps at the door that he can kick open with ease. He also sounds a little mean like he's losing his patience with Arthur's shit.  
It doesn't happen often, but it has happened before and Arthur knows not to push any more when that note of cruelty starts making an appearance.   
"I...don't know, just leave me. I can't process this yet, not now, chalk it up as a win or something. I won't be play today." The door shudders and Arthur knows that Eames has pulled his punch because there is no hole in the plasterboard.  
"Damn it Arthur I'm not bloody, fucking playing!" Even with the door between them, Arthur has to turn away; look at the spots on the porcelain that needs a good scrub. Maybe this talk they are having despite Arthur’s efforts has been overdue, but he still would prefer to avoid it.

"But you always are." Arthur muses hoping Eames won't catch the words through the door. He's not bitter, it's his own damn fault after all for...he supposes for various sins of his life if he goes by his heritage. Sin has never left his mind, subconsciously he still keeps a list of checks and balances: which sins he's managed to avoid and which he's already committed. He's the only one who knows about this list since it only exists in his mind and Arthur will always keep it that way. 

"I'm not going away Arthur! You'll have to come out sometime!" He can hear Eames sitting down through the flimsy door. Arthur doesn't see the point of it since Eames could just as well keep an eye out from the main room or even the kitchen: the whole problem of the apartment is that they can't get away from each other. But Eames, Eames likes his dramatic gestures so he will sit on the floor or maybe lie in front of the door if he gets tired of that.  
Not that Arthur cares; he doesn't, he has water and a place to sit that isn’t the floor so he can hold out for quite a while. Except the bathroom doesn't have any air-conditioning or even real air circulation and several hot water pipes running through the cramped space.  
Arthur has trapped himself in a sweatbox without meaning to.  
In hindsight he should have gone for trying to barricade himself in the kitchen but it’s too late now.  
"You aren't the only one to have a projection or two wandering around. I've had a projection of you...well it really doesn't matter for how long does it? He looks like you did when we first met; always makes me feel like such a pervert tumblin' 'm does...But I still do. Relatively speaking finding out ye're slightly less than straight in a dream means nothing luv, and she...she usually is a she you know..."   
Eames' ramblings through the door add to Arthur's misery. Eames is actually trying to comfort him about something that’s so utterly ridicules that he’d be laughing under different circumstances. Trying to redirect his attention Arthur grabs their towels and tries to pad the grate with them so he'll at least not come out of this with a striped arse. Eames can ramble on for ages when he puts his mind to it, and sometimes does in revenge when any other means of it aren't available, but this is different; this feels different...it feels intimate.

"I'm not trying to pull the wool over your eyes ye know! I know ye're pissed, but ye know that I 'ave bad self control...ye've known fer years Arthur!" He has to wonder what Eames' self control has got to do with anything, not that Arthur can cast any stones, but he has to wonder why it sounds like one Eames' rare none-apologies than anything else? "A block can still dream right? At least now I know...well I always did anyway I suppose. I won't do it again Arthur, swear on my mother's life not unless we're working a job. Just open the bloody door before you fuckin' boil in there! I promise not ta touch you!"

It's the promise that snaps Arthur into paying proper attention again and replaying Eames' rant in his head. Something about it nags at him like a burr he can't quit reach, something important.  
The heat is making it difficult to think clearly, to seek some relief and drown out Eames who just keeps on talking even without input from Arthur, he turns on the shower. The water is tepid instead of cold but it does provide some relief from the suffocating heat. He sticks his head under the water and counts to a hundred. He could take the chance and go out; they will be running out of groceries soon despite not eating all that much with the heat but then he would have to leave the bathroom.  
Arthur turns off the shower and moves closer to the door to sit down on the toilet.  
The logistics don't allow him to lean his head against the door so he has to satisfy himself with putting his hand on it where he expects Eames' head to be.  
Usually he is very good at keeping things to himself, only now with Eames' words still ringing through his head Arthur can't help letting his thoughts escape. "What gave you the idea that I want you to keep your hands to yourself?” He isn't sure that Eames has heard him; he keeps talking for a few moments longer before stuttering to a halt.  
“Darlin'?”  
"You heard me." Even through the door Arthur can't bring himself admit to anything fully.  
He can still clearly recall the last time he took a chance on Eames.

Arthur hadn't known how to handle someone like Eames then, hadn’t known how to handle the situation he had found himself in. He had been uncomfortable, still getting used to Europe, the lower drinking age and the crowds while Eames had been right at home, chatted up the bartender and getting them an actual table of all things. The dancing had been alright, Arthur hadn’t had much occasion to dance but moving to the music had proved to be easy, just a question of not caring what the others thought about it and Eames had watching him with a strange sort of smile amiable and, with the power of hindsight Arthur knows, happy. Only Arthur hadn’t really understood affection at that time in his life, he had only wanted one thing. Eames, unfortunately, had thought that Arthur was teasing when he kept shrugging off his touch while dragging him up to his room anyway.  
Only when they had reached Arthur’s hotel room and Arthur undressed instead of allowing a kiss or any touch, did Eames finally understand what Arthur wanted from him: for Eames to just slick up and fuck him, non touchy-feely stuff just a cock in Arthur’s ass. Despite working cross purposes, Arthur had managed to get Eames’ shirt off of the man to wrinkle his nose at the atrocious tattoos which had made Eames laugh. Arthur had always hated getting laughed at, so he had snapped at Eames maybe called him a name or two… Only to get pushed onto his back, kissed softly on the lips, petted on the head and made to watch as Eames walked away.

“Arthur, open the bloody door!” He can hear Eames getting up and laying his hands on the door-frame. Arthur can almost see him; all muscles tense, chin on his chest like he’s getting ready for a fight. Maybe it’s the heat that’s getting to him; maybe Arthur has gotten tired of the bullshit they have managed to collect between the two of them, he isn’t sure but all of a sudden he can’t stand staying in the bathroom any longer even with Eames at the door.

He slaps the latch open and pushes against the door that of course slams right into Eames’ head. At least it gets Eames out of the way enough that Arthur can slip past and into the kitchen to dig a beer out of the fridge. He considers just ripping out the shelves and fitting himself into the ancient contraption for half an hour or so just in case sanity comes back if he cools down. He twists the bottle cap off and swings half of the beer in one go already considering getting another from the fridge.  
Eames comes stumbling in as he calculates how many beers he’d need to get properly drunk, Arthur doesn’t turn around just waits for whatever Eames decides to do now that there is no door between them. He leans his head against the fridge and tries not to pant as Eames shuffles up to him and buries his face in the back of Arthur’s neck, then nuzzles down until he can burrow under Arthur’s sticky shirt to lick at the first knob of Arthur’s spine.  
“So you want me to touch you, pet?” Arthur feels teeth scraping across his skin.  
“I want to fuck your fucking mouth.” He admits as Eames’ arms wrap around his waist caging him. “I want a lot of things as you should well know Mr. Eames.” He keeps his hands busy with the bottle while Eames claws at the shirt that’s practically stuck to Arthur’s body pealing it off until Eames’ hands can trace patterns in the sweat on Arthur’s abdomen.  
“Should I? I thought you were straight darlin’. The one time I tried to tumble ya, didn't look like ya enjoyed yourself.” Eames noses up towards Arthur’s hairline, follows it to Arthur’s ear and closes his lips around Arthur’s lobe. Arthur pushes his ass back against Eames’ crotch to feel that confusion has not diminished Eames’ interest.  
“I wanted you to fuck me. Didn't think you would let me fuck you, but wanted that too. I…men, I didn't know any better you know.” And if Arthur sounds a bit accusatory, it’s because Eames had been older, and maybe just maybe Arthur thinks that Eames should have known better, great student of human nature that he is should have understood what Arthur wanted, despite Arthur not even having a clue.  
“I remember, you were so bloody young, didn't know what the fuck you were doing. Should have never even thought about touching you in the first place…but, ya know how it is darlin’”  
Arthur doesn't believe a word Eames is saying because, if Eames hadn't at least tried something then; he wouldn't have been Eames in the first place.

One of Eames' oh so dexterous hands worms its way past the waistband of Arthur's trousers the tips of his fingers tracing along the edge of Arthur's pubic hair but making no attempt to go any further much to Arthur's irritation. He's already opened his mouth to curse at Eames to fucking do something already, when he remembers how well trying to spur Eames on worked the last time and decides to go pliant instead.  
Unfortunately that isn't the correct solution either as it turns out.  
Fortunately Eames has gotten experience enough to ask this time instead of leaving Arthur alone and frustrated.  
"Darlin'?" He keeps nuzzling at Arthur's ear but his hand that has been exploring in his trousers pulls back until it's toying with the button and zipper instead of closing around Arthur's cock and at least jerking him off already. "Should I stop? Or do you want me to keep going? Maybe get us out of the damn kitchen?" Arthur twists himself around so that he can nuzzle at Eames' throat.

"Yeah, take me to bed Mr. Eames." He challenges and Eames' hands on his body twitch as he uses the moniker he's taught himself to keep things professional between them. It seems that he's not the only one who has developed a kink or two over the years.

Arthur doesn't get carried out of the kitchen exactly; the hallway is too damn narrow for that, but Eames does manage to keep hold of him even if he struggles not get his shoulders past the doorway.   
Of course there isn't something uncomplicated as a bed in the damn apartment; instead there is an ancient fold out couch that Eames has been occupying for the simple reason that he doesn't fit on the foldout chair Arthur has been sleeping on since they occupied the place.  
Eames puts him down in the middle of the couch; then slowly like he's afraid that Arthur is still going to bolt or something stupid like that crawls on top of him covering Arthur's body with his own. 

Arthur can't resist spreading his legs to welcome Eames’ weight on top of him, wrapping them around Eames' waist. The groan that Eames smother's in Arthur's throat is rather gratifying, Eames' lips and tongue making their way to Arthur's mouth are even more so.  
The whole thing is a little awkward, Arthur can't decide what part of Eames he wants to touch first, pinned down as he is he can't quite reach the ass he's been dreaming about for years now so he has to content himself with feeling the play of muscles in Eames' back, digging his fingers into the flesh pinning him down. Eames takes his time exploring Arthur’s mouth then Arthur’s face with his mouth. Those obscene lips Arthur has been dreaming about for years now tracing his cheekbones and the sharp line of his jaw down to Arthur’s throat. He curses as Eames nips at his Adam’s apple and nuzzles at the hollow between Arthur’s clavicles.

While exploring Eames rubs his big, hard body over Arthur like a big cat scent marking its property. Eames’ cock strains against the Y-fronts Arthur would love to burn right along with the rest of Eames’ wardrobe; Arthur can feel the hot flesh and wet cotton making a mess on his thigh and groans. He can be patient when he needs to be, but suddenly can’t stand doing this on Eames’ time. He arches into Eames’ body, slides his leg down to hook it around Eames’ thigh and pushes as hard as he can.  
Eames rolls onto his back taking Arthur with him, and Arthur would love to believe that it’s all his doing but Eames is big enough to keep Arthur pinned if he wants.  
If he’s on his back, it’s where Eames wants to be; with Arthur on top of him.  
Eames groans and digs his nails into Arthur's sides.  
Arthur’s straddles Eames’ waist and this time it’s different; he claws at his trousers needing to have his cock free right that instant, he needs to fuck his cock across Eames’ hard abdomen and feel every ridge. Eames looks up at him with a smirk and eagerly helps with getting the zipper undone when Arthur’s fingers tangle together and he ends up cursing helplessly.  
“Easy darlin’…we have all the time in the world, we do.” Only Arthur isn't so sure, he refuses to take any chances now that he’s so close to what he wants. Once his cock is free of the confines of his trousers Arthur rubs the aching flesh across the muscles Eames deliberately tenses for him. The sound that escapes Arthur’s throat is more animal than human and Eames pulls him down to swallow all of it.

Eames hands slip into the back of Arthur’s trousers to cup his ass hot as brands on Arthur’s flesh. Thick fingers pull his cheeks apart to brush across his sphincter and scratch at the muscle putting all kind of wild ideas into Arthur's head. Eames' mouth leaves his for a moment then comes back, it licks across his skin working its way down Arthur's chest as he's pulled further up Eames' body until Eames is nuzzling the material of Arthur's trousers away from his hipbones and biting his mark there.

Arthur's cock brushes against Eames' cheek, gets scrapped raw by the stubble there when he wants to pull away but Eames holds him in place rubbing against him like a cat.  
Arthur is trapped between the pleasure of Eames' mouth and agony of Eames' stubble on sensitive flesh and all he can do is curse just to keep from begging for more of either sensation.

Only when Eames finally has enough of torturing Arthur in this way does he catch the head of Arthur's cock between his lips. Arthur feels Eames' soft lips holding his flesh, just the tip of Eames' tongue tease across the very tip of his cock then wiggle its way into the slit, before pulling away.  
He's almost sure that Eames is only doing this to drive him insane.   
His control snapping, Arthur grabs at Eames' hair and jerks on it as hard as he can making Eames arch and open his mouth so Arthur can shove his cock in deep. Eames' groan vibrates across his flesh and despite Eames' grip on his ass Arthur starts thrusting. He can't look away from the thick lips wrapped around his flesh, from Eames' hazy eyes looking up at him. Arthur howls when Eames' dry finger breaches his ass, it feels like he's being ripped open and he doesn't even care.  
The pain of dry entry is just another sensation that sends him over the edge to flood Eames' mouth.  
Arthur barely keeps his perch, slumps forward to brace against the backrest of the couch that functions as a headboard so he doesn't smother Eames completely and waits for proper control of his body to return.

When he can process eternal stimuli again he looks down.  
Eames is quite a sight; his hair is a mess, his eyes bright with lust, mouth still open trying to catch his breath and the pornographic lips Arthur had been dreaming about covered with come like lip gloss. He feels something sticky on his back and groans with the realization that Eames has come as well.   
Eames' finger is still in Arthur's ass, a reminder that they aren't finished by far.   
"You don't know that." He slurs reaching out to rub a spatter of come into Eames' cheek. "You don't even know what will happen tomorrow Mr. Eames." He rocks back onto the finger inside of him, tightens his internal muscles to feel more of it and under him Eames groans.  
"May you're right, you're going to be the death of me darlin'"

The finger disappearing from Arthur's ass is the only warning Arthur gets before he's thrown off. As soon as Arthur is on his back, Eames is there covering him again hovering over him while his own come drips down onto his face. "This what you've been dreaming about Arthur? Fucking my mouth?" Like a snake striking, Eames leans down to take Arthur's mouth sharing the taste of Arthur between them.  
"Or was there something more? What else have you been wanting I wonder?" His teeth sink into Arthur's throat sharp and insistent worrying Arthur's skin until he is sure there is going to be a bruise there for weeks. "You'll have to tell me all of them eventually pet. And I'll tell you a secret, I've been dreaming too darlin' all to those years watching you wiggle that tight little ass in my face..." Eames sits up just enough to flip Arthur over. He pokes and prods until Arthur gets his knees under him. 

Eames hisses as he starts licking and biting his way down Arthur's spine until he can spread Arthur's cheeks wide and lick a hot wet stripe across Arthur's hole. Arthur yowls but doesn't try to get away, in fact he humps back against Eames' face already swelling a little despite just having come. Eames chuckles and scrapes his teeth over pale skin then shoves his tongue as deep as he can.  
Along with his tongue Eames inserts two fingers into Arthur's twitching hole working him open further.   
"Always so proper now darlin', not the bit of rough I dream about, but I figure he's in there somewhere still.” A third finger joins the two Eames already has inside of him, Arthur desperately wants them to be replaced by a cock. But when he looks back Eames isn't quite there yet, they aren't as young as they used to be after all so all he can do is curse.  
"More!" He growls spreading wider and raising his ass giving Eames access to his cock and balls as well.   
"Patience is a virtue darlin'!" Eames mouths into the slick skin of Arthur's balls nipping at them with his lips.   
"I'm surprised you even know what that word means!" Arthur bites out considers getting the upper hand again; to try and take what he wants. Three of Eames' fingers inside of him feel quite good, even if he does want more. His cock gets bend back between his legs and it isn't a sensation he's experienced before, it makes him ache and twitch but Arthur fights the feeling and claws at the sheets while trying to convince himself that he has the patience to let Eames do what he wants. 

Eames the sadistic bastard slows down even further busying himself with toying with Arthur's balls using his teeth between wet sloppy licks. His hands caress Arthur’s thighs as he amuses himself at Arthur’s expense. "Don't quite know what I want to do with you first Arthur; you'd look just lovely all tied up with those ridicules ties of yours fucking yourself on my cock. Or maybe I should just tie you the bed, make sure you can't come before I'm done with you and use your cock as my personal fuck toy...hmmm? Don't have a preference at the moment so I could be persuaded..." Eames sits up and when Arthur looks behind him makes a show of pushing the grimy Y-fronts down until they are stretched between his knees, then drapes himself over Arthur's body. They slip and slide against each other their skins, slick with sweat slippery enough that they can barely hang on. He digs his fingers into Eames' muscles to keep him in place and Eames purrs at the small hurt and nuzzles at one of Arthur’s earlobes.   
"Well darlin'?" Eames mumbles grinding his by now hard cock into Arthur's ass, “have you made up your mind?" Arthur would love to say that he has, but really it feels like his brain has short circuited and all he can focus on is keeping as much contact with Eames as he can.   
"Don't care, but no tying up, not here." Because they are still on the clock even if that means sitting around waiting for the all clear, Arthur is still not stupid enough to allow himself to be incapacitated that way...he wouldn't object to tying up Eames, but...  
"Fair enough let's safe it for the post job celebration shall we?" It sends a flood of warmth through Arthur's system, the implication that this will not be over once they leave the apartment for the civilized world.

As they talk Arthur can feel Eames' cock grind up between his legs and snuggle up to his balls.  
His ass twitches with the proximity reminding him that he's been loosened up already anyway and Eames' cock is so close.  
"Just get on with it Mr. Eames!" He reaches backwards and digs his fingers into Eames’ hip to force him into action refusing to spell it out the obvious.  
Eames, thankfully, is done with teasing as well.  
He demonstrates his strength by hooking his hands under Arthur's knees, lifting and spreading him as wide as he can go. Arthur curses the awkwardness of the position, but he shouldn’t expect anything less really, it doesn’t mean he won’t enjoy it. Eames' mouth descends on Arthur's hole, nuzzling between his cheeks and fucking into it until Arthur feels spit running down his balls.   
"No lube at hand darlin'…" Eames mumbles against Arthur's ass, it's the only warning Arthur gets.  
Not that he cares because he is going to get fucked by Eames and it's not like he's never had it rough before.   
"Get on with it!" He growls trying to pull out of Eames' grip to make him do something. Eames only chuckles, raises him higher, makes himself comfortable dragging every action out as much as he can and then finally Arthur can feel Eames' cock nudging at his hole. 

Slowly, inch by inch Eames works his way inside of him; Arthur smothers his moans in the bed as he's filled up slowly his ass clinging to the thick cock despite the sweat, spit and pre-come paving the way. Behind him, Arthur can hear Eames cursing under his breath probably struggling not to push in all the way in one go. The helplessness and discomfort only add to the pleasure driving Arthur mercilessly to completion.

Eames changes his grip, lowers Arthur's legs, his arms slide up towards Arthur's waist to wrap around it and pull him up until Arthur's back is flush with Eames' chest. Eames' mouth finds Arthur's throat licking away the sweat there as he mumbles endearments and curses. Trapped in Eames' arms all Arthur can do is grab at Eames' hair and try to keep him from pulling away, from stopping what he's doing.  
He throws his head back, twists so he can lick at Eames' stubbled cheek and moan into Eames' ear when he feels one of Eames’ arms move away from his waist, slides past his cock and prods behind Arthur’s balls at his hole.

He's already full and sore, getting mercilessly used and Eames' finger scratching at the stretched rim; it almost feels like too much. He wants a hand on his cock, wants release, and as Eames starts to push his finger in along his cock Arthur realizes that he wants Eames to torture him some more.   
"Come for me Arthur..." The words are groaned into his ear desperate and broken sounding, the send Arthur over the edge screaming and sinking his teeth into Eames' cheek.  
Eames pins him down on the bed and sets a brutal rhythm that in Arthur's sensitive state feels like his ability to walk will be destroyed forever. 

Eames comes filling Arthur's ass, spreading Arthur’s cheeks to watch his cock sink into Arthur's ass one last time before slowly pulling out. Arthur whimpers when the head of Eames' cock slips out of him followed by a glob of come that drips down his balls.  
Then Eames drops beside him onto the messy bedding.

Despite feeling wrecked Arthur is tempted to demand that Eames gets back inside of him again, but he doesn't feel like he can catch his breath just yet. Eames isn't just much better off by the way he's panting, they are both filthy and overheated, but the shower seems to be miles away. 

"We are doing this again." Even if Eames changes his mind, even if Arthur has to hold a gun on him while fucking they are going to fuck again.   
"I can hear you plotting darlin', thought you'd be too shagged out for it, guess I'll have to try harder."  
It takes all of Arthur's self control to move his arm enough that he's touching Eames again.   
"I'm holding you to that." He can keep his eyes open long enough to see Eames smile.  
With his hand on Eames and his body sore, ten years too late, Arthur can finally relax.

**Author's Note:**

> My vacation to Russia can be thanked for the existence of this fic.   
> The apartment is real including the furniture, and it does overheat like crazy when it's more than 25 Celsius out.


End file.
